If A Heart Could Drink
by BitterSongOfGrace
Summary: Ivar wants to play games with drunk Captive!Alfred, but drunk Alfred is just pissy. Preslash.


"What do you think little Christian?"

Alfred, slouched over the table and right hand holding his temple, mumbled incoherently.

Hvitserk sneered from his wax lit corner, arms crossed and back against the post. "You fill him with ale and ask him to think? I would complain about you giving out our ale but barely a cup's worth even wet his lips. He's pathetic Ivar."

Ivar stiffly walked over to Alfred, a sly look in his eyes and a bottle of ale in his unoccupied arm.

"Ah ah ah, brother," Ivar tsked, a taunt at the tip of his tongue. "A Christian can be important, captive or not-"

"Ivar, no. You play your games, leave me out of it. We should be focusing on Lagertha and Bjorn and Ubbe, that is the war upon us."

Ivar dropped to the chair next to Alfred, and the Viking casually made to grab the cup sitting alone and empty before him. He wanted to lull the other boy into a false sense of camaraderie, learn more about the Saxons. Just speaking their tongue was a useful skill, but what of other dynamics? Ivar could commend his father for all of his accomplishments to anyone, but one strategy was particularly brilliant yet overlooked - _Aethelstan._

As Ivar's fingertips touched the cup's surface, a slender pale hand darted out and smacked it out of Ivar's reach. The cup clattered across the table until finally rolling over the edge and plunging the room into silence.

Ivar blinked. And blinked again.

Alfred's chest heaved with deep breaths, cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed. His anger was palpable, the sudden change in demeanor giving Ivar pause.

Hvitserk groaned and took a step towards the tent entrance. "Gita's waiting, call on me tomorrow Ivar." He stepped past the flap and into the moonlit night, leaving Ivar alone with his games.

Still, Ivar stared.

The older boy's stare must have put Alfred at unease, as he turned his head and the attractive red of his cheeks traveled down his neck and past his shirt line.

Ivar could not help himself. He began laughing.

Alfred whipped back around to face Ivar, fear and shame converting more to annoyance the longer Ivar laughed.

Ivar The Boneless wiped at his eyes as his chuckles slowly died down, humor heavy in his chest. Alfred seemed to always have an air of calmness about him; this side to the Saxon prince made Ivar feel warm all the way to his core. This would be fun, he already knew.

"Little Christian, you turn down my offer of ale so hatefully."

Alfred huffed. "What do you want from me Ivar? What can ale pull from my mouth that you can't pull yourself?" The Saxon prince cocked his head to the side, a curious look on his face - Ivar couldn't put a name to the emotion.

"Little Christian-"

" _Alfred._ My name is _Alfred,_ you _asshole."_

Ivar's eye twitched. "Don't be so emotional _Alfred._ "

Alfred jumped to his feet and slammed his hands on the wooden surface between them. Ivar thought Alfred's display of anger and 'strength' was humorous - the other boy was too petite to even _try_ to intimidate Ivar. "Play with someone else Ivar. We are not friends, there is not an alliance you can convince me of, and we are not-" Alfred's skin suddenly became flushed again mid-sentence, and the Saxon boy bit back the rest of his words.

Ivar raised a brow. "What is it that we are not?"

Alfred looked him in the eye, indecision clear. But after a moment, he glanced at the bottle Ivar still held in his grasp and seemed to have made some sort of choice. Ivar quickly realized that choice was more ale as Alfred leaned over, grabbed the bottle by its neck, and tipped it down his throat.

Alfred wiped his mouth afterwards with the back of his hand, eyes drifting away from Ivar in embarrassment. "We are not our Fathers."

Ivar almost scoffed in response, unable to keep from comparing Alfred to Aethelwulf. He almost began to insult the other boy's father quite fiercely, until he realized that Aethelwulf isn't quite who Alfred meant.

"You speak of Athelstan," Ivar said bluntly.

He took Alfred's silence as agreement.

"I do vaguely remember Athelstan. He wasn't always a constant, but he proved to be a valuable ally to Ragnar, specifically against the Christians. From what Floki has said though, he died a Christian death and was never a true believer in our Gods after all." Ivar rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that no matter what happens while you are my captive, you would be glad to suffer the same fate and never escape from your God. That's what makes you _Christian._ I can admit to my own similarities. Perhaps in some ways, we may truly be following their steps."

Ivar felt pleased with the turn in conversation. Perhaps talk of Athelstan and Ragnar could lead to Alfred believing such a 'friend' could be found in Ivar.

It was the prince's turn to laugh, albeit bitterly and without any humor.

"You obviously know nothing of Athelstan and Ragnar."

Ivar glared, tapping his fingers against the table top. "You never met Athelstan. You know less than I know."

Alfred glanced at Ivar with something akin to pity on his face. The look made Ivar's blood boil.

"Your father had no qualms explaining to me the true nature of their friendship." Alfred took another drink, but this one was slow and drawn out. "And the stories I heard from my Grandfather, let's just say I never looked at our bathhouse the same again." Alfred wrinkled his nose at some memory that he didn't seem too keen to share.

Ivar was at a loss for words. His thinking seemed to come to a halt. Ivar was unconsciously rewriting memories of Ragnar and Athelstan's friendship into memories of Ragnar and _his lover._ Their fathers' relationship with one another may not be the best tactic-

A fierce grin stretched across Ivar's face as he looked Alfred up and down. His eyes brightened with new plots and reimagined thoughts, and Ivar The Boneless again realized the brilliance behind Ragnar Lothbrok.

Alfred noticed Ivar's gaze. Something about the way Alfred narrowed his eyes hinted at Ivar's plans being somewhat obvious to the other boy. But the way Alfred's eyes drifted down the rest of Ivar's figure as he stood from his chair promised a fruitful chase. _Even better,_ Ivar thought.

"As I said," Ivar began, towering over Alfred. He bent down, grabbed Alfred's right shoulder, and leaned into the other boy enough to brush Alfred's ear with warm breath and heated words. "We may be similar enough."


End file.
